Wilson wouldn't claim to have slept well.
After getting home, he'd sat in the dark of their bedroom, the fire burning in the fireplace and casting the only light across the space while Wilson watched the snow fall. On a whim, he'd picked up one of his notepads and written out a letter to Aziraphale, which had helped...a little. Enough to allow the young doctor to curl up around the angel's pillow and eventually find some solace in sleep.
Walking through the softly falling snow, Wilson had stopped by the Perk for caffiene and something to eat, then headed on down to the clinic. His satchal was slung over his shoulder and he was humming some carols as he pushed through the door and waved to the night nurse.
The nurse came over to him with a group of faxed files and a worried expression on her face. While Wilson started a pot of coffee they discussed the patient in Exam 3, a Mrs. Martha Kent, admitted by Dr. Lambert the night before. Flipping through the file, Wilson's expression shifted and his shoulders slumped slightly.
Pancreatic cancer was a monster.
Sighing softly, he nodded to the nurse, who headed into the back to change shift and then he carried the file to the front desk. It never failed to anger him when cancer came to Fandom. Trolls, vampires, snow monsters, zombies...those monsters he could handle but the one he'd been trained to face down, was the boogeyman in the closet, the darkness that never seemed to want to let him go.
Damn it, Raphale...I wish you were here.